The Weight Post You've Been Weighting** For

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In September life was relatively normal. I weighed about 153, and was at week ten of my twelve week half marathon training. My week consisted of 1. not counting calories and maintaining my weight and 2. literally running my tush off in between swimming, biking, and weight lifting. It was divine.

Then Brian got sick. I didn't get any exercise for a solid month. None. I could try to blame this on how overwhelmed I felt trying to run our house, take care of Brian, and also get him proper medical care so he could be diagnosed and treated, but mostly there is no decent reason I didn't throw in a Jillian DVD or hoof it down to my basement to ride the elliptical. (*Therapist Couch Break* I'm pretty sure it has to do with working out being my "escape" from home. Since I homeschool my kiddos I am with them in the house all the time. Gym time is a mini vacation for me. Being alone is my incentive to exercise. Sweating inside my own home where I can still see and hear the chaos has little effect on the relaxation aspect of working out. *End Introspection*)

After Brian was well enough to be left alone with the older kiddos I headed back to the gym. I got almost two weeks of workouts back (and my month-long absense from Ab Lab really made itself known to my poor tummy) and then I broke a bone spur in my foot.

I was on crutches for two weeks. I was given the go ahead to return to biking, swimming, or even elliptical as soon as I could walk on my foot without crutches, but no running for six weeks. This was just a minor setback, right? Unfortunately I ended up messing up my trapezius muscle as a result of my posture from the crutches and spent the next nine weeks getting physical and massage therapy three times a week so I could turn my head and lift my arms. This injury meant not only no running, but no swimming and no biking. It meant no Ab Lab. It meant no significant upper body strength training.

This all happened within the trifecta of Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Honestly, being injured and not counting calories was like the perfect storm. It was like a tsunami of fat washed over my body.

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I noticed it for the first time on Black Friday. Nothing fit. Then I tried one size up and it was all good again. I had gone up an entire clothing size in less than two months. I was all, "Woah," (say it like you're Keanu) but since I've lost 100 pounds and kept it off for two years, I wasn't really all that worried. I knew how to lose weight, right?

Enter January 11, and my much anticipated return to the gym. I had an amazingly puke-worthy workout and it seemed brighter days looser clothes were coming.

Except they didn't.

No problem, I just needed to be faithful counting calories.

Except I wasn't.

Okay, I've been here before, it's simply a determination thing. I need some accountability. Lifetime Fitness had a 90 Day Weight Loss Challenge beginning February 8. That sounded perfect. I would pay actual money ($25) to be weighed in weekly by a personal trainer. They would record my weight, BMI, and my Body Fat Percentage.

The first week my eating was spot on. I prepared to blow away my personal trainer with my amazing weight loss skills that would surely net me at least a four pound first week weight loss. I was ready to be given a crown and hailed as the Weight Loss Master of the World. (I had no reason to believe this number; my home scale needed a new battery so I was honestly just pulling a number out of the air.) I was assigned an attractive young man named Kemper to handle my first weigh in.

"Well, you've lost .7 of a pound. But you've lost 3% body fat, so that's amazing."

What? Excuse me, I don't think you know how my body responds to weight loss mode. I lose. That's what I do. Eat less, move more. WHAT THE ACTUAL HECK, KEMPER?

So I settled down for another week of counting. I was eating 1600 calories everyday, and exercising 4-5 days a week. My workouts were a mixture of classes (Core Blast, Core 30), running, swimming, and strength training. I was really confident at my next weigh in. I probably had a humble speech already prepared in response to the accolades I would receive for my giant weight loss that was surely due me because LAST WEEK.

I hopped on the scale, the machine scanned me, and Kemper said, "You've lost .4 of a pound, but your body fat has gone up 2%."

This is when I punched Kemper in his young, sculpted cheekbones. Sike.

Instead I sat down to put my shoes on, glanced at Kemper and forlornly said, "Do I need to eat less?" (Imagine the most pathletic and broken voice possible. Not because of the weight loss fail, but because I really love food. And I really love eating. And I'm really overly dramatic.)

Kemper said, "Not necessarily," and then he sat down and went through my entire diet with me, which is awesome, because people pay him for that and he did it for me for free.

I'll post tomorrow* on his opinion of my diet, what he recommended I do, and the results of his way of eating. Stay tuned!



(*Sorry. I know this is bogue. My kiddos are starting to stir. I've got to go do the mom thing. Where does the time go?!)

**Did you see what I did there?